Hardened
by Seselian
Summary: I UPDATED! For all of you who have been eagerly awaiting the next chapter. Hah. Yeah Right. Dally when he was arrested at ten. PG for quite a bit of swearing.
1. Kiss My Ass

Hardened  
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Here it is. I didn't copy this idea from Ten to Seventeen, I'd already started writing this when I read that story. Anyway, as a disclaimer, the only thing I own is Brent. I don't even really own the plot, cuz it's mentioned in the books. PG (so far) for mild swearing. (Hardly any (so far).)  
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Chapter 1  
Kiss My Ass   
  
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Dally glanced around, trying not to look as nervous as he was. Thoughts flitted through his head, but two main ones kept surfacing. Did his parents know? And, more importantly, did they care?   
  
He knew they didn't. They hardly knew he existed. His whole family lived in a tiny, dirty, apartment in a slum in New York City. He had three sisters and two brothers. His oldest brother had been killed in a gang fight a year ago, when Dally was nine. Now Dallas Winston was ten, and seeing the inside of a police station for the first time in his life.  
  
It wasn't nearly as impressive as he'd imagined it would be- the dirty brown carpeting was worn thin in places, there was a coffee stain underneath the desk, the wallpaper was cracked and stained, and the desk was covered in papers.  
  
The cop behind the desk glanced up. "Brent, again," he muttered.   
  
Dally glanced back at Brent, who was leaning insolently against the wall. Brent was a regular with the police. He'd spent his whole life in New York City. His parents had left him on the doorstep of the Baptist Church when he was two months old, he'd been found by the pastor and promptly sent to an foster home. When he was nine, he stole a car and wrecked it in a duck pond, almost killing an old man who was feeding the pigeons. They'd sent him to a special school that was more like a prison, where he'd gotten into more trouble. He was sixteen now, and almost all the cops on this side of New York knew who he was.  
  
"They mugged an old lady over in Manhattan," explained the cop who'd brought them in. "He had a gun." He jerked his thumb at Brent.   
  
"Brent's last offense," remarked the police officer. "Judge said a year next time he got outta line." Brent shrugged and followed the second cop out of the room, leaving Dally in the room along with the police officer behind the desk.   
  
"What's your name?" the cop asked.  
  
Dally didn't say anything. The cops eyes stared at him.  
  
"I asked what your name was," the cop repeated.  
  
"I heard you," Dally replied evenly. He wasn't going to cooperate with the cops. They were going to have to drag his name and anything else they wanted to know out of him syllable by syllable.   
  
"Then what's the name? Come on, kid, we don't have all day!"  
  
"Dally."   
  
"Need the last name too, Dally."  
  
Dally didn't say anything.  
  
"Hurry up, kid!"  
  
"My mom told me not to tell my name to strangers," Dally drawled, allowing himself a grin. His mother had told him no such thing, of course, but it was fun getting under the cop's skin.  
  
"Oh, for Pete's sake! Kid, you tell me your last name right now or you'll be in that jail over the weekend with your buddy!"  
  
"Kiss my ass," Dally said, pronouncing each word clearly and deliberately.   
  
"What did you say?" the cop asked, quietly and coldly.  
  
Dally almost laughed. It seemed like that was what adults always said when you'd said something you shouldn't have. Instead he replied, "You heard me. Unless you need a hearing aid. But you don't look that old quite yet..." He paused, then glanced at the cop again. "Although you never know."   
  
The cop seemed to swell. "Why you little..."   
  
Dally laughed. He'd hit a nerve.  
  
"You're going to spend the weekend with your pal Brent. I don't care if you're seven," the cop said.  
  
Dally stiffened. "I'm ten!"  
  
"Like I said, I don't care!" the cop grabbed his arm and escorted him down the hallway toward the connected jail.   
  
In jail at ten! Thought Dally as the cop pulled him down the hallway. He doubted even Brent could boast that. He pushed the voice away in theback of his mind that said What do you think you're doing, smarting off to a cop? Do you really want to be like Brent? Yeah, he answered himself. Of Course I want to be like Brent.  
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That was chapter 1. REVEIW! Plleeezzzeeeeee! If anyone likes it, I'll try to write more soon. 


	2. I wanna be in your gang

I've changed Dally's crime to robbing a McDonalds, as that will probably be more interesting. Most of the chapter is a flashback. I hate flashbacks.... I don't know why I'm writing one. Oh Well!  
  
I'm sick of writing disclaimers. Go to the first chapter if you want to see one.  
  
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Chapter 2  
  
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Brent was sitting on the bench/bed in his new 'home' for the next year. He stared at the ceiling, then glanced out the tiny window set in the door at the hallway. He wondered what would happen to Dally. He should be fine... if he didn't say something stupid. But, knowing Dally, he probably would.  
  
He grinned, remembering when he'd met Dally. The first time he'd ever set eyes on Dallas Winston was at Dally's brother's funeral. Brent hadn't wanted to go. He hated funerals, hated caskets, hated dead people. He especially hated ministers- he'd never been able to forget when he'd been shipped off to a foster home by one. However, he'd known Michael Winston his whole life, and the whole gang was going.  
  
He'd never forget when this little nine-year-old kid had come up to him after the service and demanded that he be allowed to take his brother's place in the gang. Brent had half-choked on his cigarette as he looked down to encounter a fierce and determined gaze. The kid was serious! "Shit, kid!" Brent had replied, doing his best to keep a straight face. "There ain't no five-year-olds in my gang."  
  
"I'm nine!" Dally had insisted.  
  
"No nine-year-olds, either." Brent had ground his cigarette butt into the ground and walked away.  
  
Dally ran after him. Brent struggled with the impulse to turn around and strangle the kid. Instead, he sighed with exasperation and turned around.  
  
"Would you stop following me?"  
  
"No," Dally had said stubbornly.  
  
Brent sighed and walked away. Normally he would probably punch the kid, but not in front of all the people who had come to the funeral. He got in his car and slammed the door in Dally's face, driving down the street at twenty miles over the speed limit.  
  
The next day, the phone calls started. Brent answered the phone.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"I wanna be in your gang!"  
  
"Shit, kid, NO!" Brent slammed the reciever down. The phone rang again.  
  
"Can I be-"  
  
"NO."  
  
Slam.  
  
Ring.  
  
"God dammit, Leave me alone, no you can't-"  
  
"Shit, man, what's with you?" the voice on the other end of the line said.  
  
"Mark! I thought you were Michael's little brother- he's been calling tryin' to get in the gang."  
  
"Into the gang? Jesus, he's what, three?"   
  
"Nine."  
  
Mark snorted. "You could let him in just to see what he'd do."  
  
Now it was Brent's turn to snort.  
  
"I'm serious!" Mark persisted. "Hold up a IGA or somethin, have him hold the gun... that way you can pretend you're completely innocent."  
  
"Yeah right. Cops'd think it was me even if it wasn't."  
  
Mark snickered. "How would you know? It's never not been you."  
  
"Aw, shut it." Brent hung up, thinking hard. Why not take Mark's advice. Mark was smart, and very rarely wrong.  
  
*****************  
  
"All you gotta do is hold the gun."  
  
"I know," said Dally. He was grinning. This was going to be fun. He looked across the street at the bright lights of the McDonalds. It was just closing.  
  
"C' mon!" Brent walked across the street and pulled open the fast food joint's door. Dally darted after him.  
  
He blinked at the brightness of the fluorescent lights for a moment, then looked around. The tables were deserted, and the only person in the building was a teenage girl who was sweeping the floor. "We're closed," she told them.  
  
Brent shrugged.  
  
The girl was getting nervous, Dally could tell, but she was trying not to show it. "What do you-"  
  
She broke off as Dally pulled the gun from under his jacket.  
  
"Give you three guesses what we want," Brent told her.  
  
"Money!" Dally said loudly. Brent gave him a dirty look.   
  
The girl swallowed, and crossed the room to the cash register, keeping her eye on Dally and his gun. "Here," she said, taking out the bills with shaking hands and shoving them into Brent's hands.   
  
"C'mon," Brent told Dally, going out of the restaurant. Dally followed. Once on the side walk, Brent had broke into a run, with Dally following at his heels. They were halfway to the street corner when they heard the girl yelling at the cop who was patrolling in his car. They ran right into the cop. Brent sighed. He was so tired of this bull shit. 


	3. Going Home

I just got to see the Outsiders movie! I liked the book better, though...   
  
This chapter is kind of strange. Old creepy relatives. (Can you tell I've been to a family reunion recently? ^_^ kidding....) I'm going to skip ahead 3 years. Dally is 13 now. Also, does anyone know what town the Outsiders is in? I didn't know, so I just used Stop A... It sounds really goofy. If you know, tell me! Thanx...  
  
I don't own the Outsiders, don't sue me...  
  
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Chapter 3  
  
Going Home  
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*Three years later*  
  
Dally kicked open the door to the apartment his family was currently living in. His mother was packing, tears rolling down her cheeks. Dally heaved a sigh. It was hard to feel sorry for her when it happened so often. And it wasn't exactly convenient relocating every time his mother broke up with her latest boyfriend. Since they'd moved to New York City, they'd probably lived in at least twenty different apartments, and he couldn't tell the difference between any of them. They were all cramped, and on the 'bad' side of the New York.  
  
"Get packed!" his mother snapped. "We're getting out of this goddamn city. Going home."  
  
Dally raised his eyebrows. "Home?" He didn't even know where his mother had been born, before they'd moved to New York they'd lived everywhere from Oregon to Florida.   
  
"Kansas," his mother replied.  
  
"Kansas!?"   
  
"Yeah. That's where I was born."  
  
Dally just stared at her in horror. Kansas. No doubt a town full of hicks. He couldn't think of anywhere more boring.  
  
***  
  
Dally hated trains. He shifted in his seat, trying to get more comfortable. "STOP A, KANSAS!" the intercom blasted.   
  
"That's us," his mother said, standing up. Dally grabbed his bag from under the seat and moved toward the front of the train.   
  
A rainy drizzle was falling outside. (a/n: I dunno, can rainy drizzles fall? Oh Well....) He stepped off the train and sighed. Nope, it wasn't any better than he'd expected. The rain probably wasn't helping, but the gray streets weren't exactly awe-inspiring. Not in the least. He'd be lucky if there were gang fights or even gangs at all here, he thought bleakly.   
  
No one was there to meet them. Dally didn't care. He watched as people got off the train and were bombarded by joyful relatives.   
  
"What are you starin at?" said a voice loudly from behind him. Dally whirled around, surprised, and saw a rich looking teenager standing there, a disgusted expression on his face. "Grease," he said, looking Dally up and down. "As if we more greasers around here."  
  
"I just can't seem to get away from Socs, can I?" Dally said, glaring with ice cold blue eyes. For lack of anything more original, he spit in the Soc's face. Then turned away, ignoring the Soc's outraged reply, and caught up with his mother, who was already walking away.  
  
"Where are we going?" he asked.  
  
"My Aunt's house. You great aunt Nancy."  
  
"Aunt Nancy? Anymore relatives I don't know about?"  
  
"Not here. Now shut up."  
  
He shut up and watched as he walked past the big, nice looking houses that lined the street. Then they crossed a street and it was like they were in a whole new world. The houses looked like they were a threat to the people who lived in them, and the people on the streets looked tougher, more like greasers. Dally relaxed. This felt more like home.   
  
Dally's mother stopped in front of one of the most dingy houses on the block. Marching up to the door, she knocked, yelling, "Aunt Nancy! Nancy! I know you're in there, open up!" She stopped knocking and waited, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.   
  
Dally stared at the door, wondering if his mother had gone crazy. Then the door swung open, and an old woman peered out. Squinting, she took a step closer. "Cathy? Is that you?"   
  
"Yes, Aunt Nancy, it's me. Me and the children have come to stay with you."  
  
For the first time, Nancy's glance took in Dally and his six brothers and sisters. Dally was the oldest, since Michael was killed, and he had three brothers and three sisters, ranging in age from eleven to one.  
  
His Aunt's gaze traveled over each of them, slowly, then paused on Dally.   
  
The old woman frowned. "I don't like boys his age." She pointed a skinny finger at Dally. "Always gettin in gangs, and trouble, they are."  
  
Dally could see his mother flinch at the accusation that was so close to the truth. God, he hated this place. And his aunt. So what if he did get in trouble, she didn't know that. Just judging him, like everyone else had always judged him. Like the Socs always judged you. He turned and walked away. He couldn't help it. He was just so tired of not being wanted. 


	4. This is Dally

It's Tulsa, k, good. Thanks. Another *wonderful* chapter. (cough, cough I have no plot... If you read the rest of my stories, they have no plot either.... Plotless. Oh well... ) You get to meet the Curtis family 5 years before the books in this chapter, so read on! Heres the story:  
  
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Chapter 4  
  
This is Dally  
  
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It was getting dark, and he wasn't really sure where to go. He wandered through the streets aimlessly, avoiding the people on the sidewalks, walking with his head down. Wasn't there any place in this goddamn town he could sleep? He walked faster, concentrating on the cracks in the sidewalk.   
  
Finally, he saw the top of a slide poking up from behind a building. A park. He walked faster.   
  
The park turned out to be a slide, a couple of swings, a jungle gym, a fountain, and a couple of benches. He lay on one of the benches, pulling his jeans jacket closer, and tried to go to sleep.  
  
******  
  
He was running away from the cops. But they just kept coming, running after him. He was on a street that never ended. He kept running, but so did the cops. He tried to stop but he couldn't. He couldn't even get his switchblade out of his pocket. All he could do was run, and run, and run....  
  
He opened his eyes to see a greaser two or three years older than him, shaking Dally, trying to wake him up. "Piss off," was Dally's first reaction.   
  
The older greaser stopped shaking him and grinned. "Piss off? All I did was wake you up. You were sayin somethin about 'stop following me! Stop running, stop.'"  
  
"I was dreaming the cops were after me," said Dally, more awake.  
  
"Ah. Why are you sleeping out here? Who are you anyway? You sure ain't a soc. I'm Darrel... Darry."  
  
"I'm Dally," said Dally, sitting up. "My aunt won't let me sleep at her house. No, I'm not a Soc. I'm greaser. From New York."  
  
"Um. You want to come to my house? Mom'd skin me if she knew I'd just let you sit out here."  
  
"I'm fine!"  
  
"It's raining."  
  
"I've slept in worse."  
  
"That don't mean you have to when you have a choice."  
  
"Fine! I'll feel stupid, though."  
  
"Shit, who hasn't? Come on."  
  
Dally rolled his eyes and followed Darry to a house about a block away. Darry stopped at the fence and kicked the base of it as hard as he could. It flew open.  
  
"Rusted," he told Dally, running up the steps, and opening the door. "Brought someone home, Mom," he yelled.   
  
"Who?" a female voice yelled back. "If it's Paul, tell him to go home. I ain't gettin' chewed out by his mother again."  
  
"It's not." Darry motioned Dally into the house.   
  
Everything was clean, but it was still in bad shape. Dally relaxed. This was the kind of place he wished he lived in. Not so fancy you thought you'd break the furniture if you sat on it, but at least nice... clean. No beer bottles, or cigarette butts.   
  
"Come on," Darry went farther in the house. Dally followed him to a kitchen, where a small woman was mixing something in a bowl.   
  
"This is Dally."  
  
"Oh." His mother glanced up. "Hello... I'm Christina."  
  
"Er... can he sleep here? I'll sleep in the living room."  
"I can use the floor!" protested Dally.  
  
"You're a guest."  
  
"Sure, he can stay," said Christina, turning back to whatever she was stirring.  
  
"Good." Darry grinned. "C 'mon. Come meet Soda and Pony."  
Hope you liked it. REVIEW! Pleeaaasseeee!!!! Please? 


	5. I'm Dallas Winston

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Chapter 5  
I'm Dallas Winston  
  
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At that moment, a boy about Dally's age, maybe a year younger, appeared in the doorway. "Hey, Darry, ya wanna play some pok-" He broke when he saw Dally.   
  
"This is Dally," said Darry. "That's my brother, Sodapop."   
  
"Uh... Hi," said Soda. Suddenly he grinned. "You new? I don't think I've seen you before." He bent over sideways to look at Dally from a different angle. "Nope. You don't look familiar that way either."  
  
Dally stared at him. He was a year or two younger than him with longish golden hair, and he was grinning like a maniac. "Is your name really Sodapop?"  
  
"Yep. Sodapop, Soda. Gotta brother named Ponyboy. Here he comes."  
  
A younger version of Soda appeared in the doorway, clutching a piece of paper. He was eight or nine, short, but with Soda's tuff looking hair. "Who's that?" he asked.  
  
"This is Dally," said Darry. "That's Ponyboy," he told Dally. He turned back to his brother. "what's that?" he pointed to the piece of paper.   
  
Pony grinned and held the paper in the air for all to see. Dally had to stop his jaw from dropping open. It was a picture of a horse. Nothing remarkable there. The thing was, it was an amazing picture of a horse. For an eight or nine year old, at least.   
  
"Wow, Pony! That's great!" said Soda. "Gonna get me a horse like that some day."  
  
Dally didn't seem particularly impressed. "That's real good, Ponyboy,"he said. "Go show Mom."   
  
"Well?"  
  
Dallas realized Ponyboy was talking to him. "Huh?" he asked.  
  
"Do you like it?" The drawing was waved in his face.   
  
"It's... amazing. You're a real good artist Ponyboy."  
  
Pony grinned, and trotted off to show his mother.   
  
"He's obsessed with drawing," Darry told Dally. "He's good at it, too. But that's all he ever does. Mom and Dad even worry about him sometimes. But he's always been real quiet like that. Drawing and writing."  
  
"There ain't nothing wrong with that," said Dally.  
  
Darry rolled his eyes. "Tell that to Mom and Dad."  
  
Dally turned to Sodapop. "So... did you wanna play poker?"  
  
"Sure... you want to? You any good?"  
  
"You'll see, won't you."  
  
"Darry can probably beat you. Darry's real good at poker."  
  
Two games later, Dally was agreeing with Soda. Darry had won both games, and was starting to win the third, when Christina called from the kitchen that dinner was ready. Relieved, Dally followed Darry and Soda toward the kitchen, which also served as a dining room.   
  
Christina plunked a plate of spaghetti on the table. "David!" she yelled. "Time to eat!"  
  
A couple of minutes later another Darry-Soda-Pony look alike appeared in the doorway. "That's Dad," Darry said.   
  
Dally stared. The guy looked twenty. He could have been Darry's brother. Realizing he was staring, he forced a "Hi."  
  
"Hi," said David. "Who are we?"  
  
"I'm Dallas Winston."  
  
The bowl of green beans slipped out of Christina's hands and smashed. No one moved to clean it up. They where all too busy staring, open-mouthed at Dally.  
  
"i Winston? /i" David finally said, after several seconds of silence. "Related to Nancy Winston at all?"  
  
"She's my great aunt," Dally told them, puzzled, before he realized that that might not exactly have been the best thing to admit....  
  
  
No, they aren't going to chop off his head with a butcher knife because he's related to Nancy Winston. It kinda sounds that way, doesn't it? Sorries. I haven't decided why they care about Nancy... any suggestions would be greatly appreciated.... (hint, hint) and REVIEW! I don't mind flames either. I don't think you guys flame, I haven't seem a flame yet, but maybe my story will be the special first ^_^  
  
(My best friend moved away today, I can't figure out why I'm in such a good mood. She'll be delighted to hear I was in a really good mood on her last day at this school, I'm sure. I'll stop yattering on now... Here's a sad face for Jess (the friend) :( WOW! It turned into an actual sad face! How neat is that? Coolies... 


	6. Amen

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Chapter 6  
  
Amen  
  
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I am regretting the last three or four paragraphs of last chapter sooo much. Arrggg! This is so corny and unbelievable. Yuck. Yuck. Well, the best thing I can do is get it over with. Review it even though it sucks, pleeze!  
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"Oh," said Christiana, finally. "Well."  
  
"See, Nancy Winston.... Erm... Died, last summer," David explained.  
  
"No she didn't!" Dally said, puzzled. "I saw her earlier today!"  
  
"Yeah, Thats the weird part," piped up Darry. "Everyone knows she's not really dead, but the police are choosing to ignore it."  
  
"Police?" asked Dally, more and more confused.  
  
"She dealed illegal drugs. Deals."  
  
"The reason it was such a shock to us was that.... Never mind. Would someone go get the broom?"  
  
Ponyboy jumped up and went into the kitchen and came back with the broom. Christina swept up the mess, and sat down. Everyone bowed their heads. Except Dally. Darry elbowed him in the ribs. "We're praying," he whispered.   
  
"Oh," said Dally, his face turning red as he bowed his head like the rest of them and David started the prayer. Praying?! He'd never met anyone who prayed before they'd eaten. He sure never did. He could dimly remember, when he was about three, his mother had decided to be religious and dragged them all to church, including Michael, who had had a hangover.   
  
The end result was Michael holding his head all service, and the pastor asking, after the service, what was wrong. When the answer was given (somewhat guiltily), by his mother, they had had to stand there for ten minutes and listen to a lecture on the evils of alcohol. (a/n: No offense to church-goers, I am one, but you know what I mean. On and on and on..... Hah, It'd probably be less offensive if I'd just kept my mouth shut.)   
  
"Amen."  
  
Dally raised his head, having been so buried in thought that he'd missed his very first prayer. Aw, shucks. He grinned and reached for a porkchop. Nope, he wasn't quite the religious type.  
  
***  
  
"That was good!" declared Soda. "Is there any cake?"  
  
"Yeah, but you are not eating it for breakfast," Christina said, going back into the kitchen.  
  
"Cake for breakfast?" Dally asked.  
  
"Hey," said Soda, "Don't say anything if you haven't tried it." (a/n: I cannot remember the phrase.... )   
  
"It's good," said Ponyboy solemnly.  
  
Christina returned with a chocolate cake. "Pony gets first piece. He helped me make it."  
  
"Ponyboy was the cook?" Soda yelped, pretending to fall off his chair in shock. "Maybe I don't want any after all."  
  
Pony looked genuinely hurt. "Hey," said Soda, reaching over a ruffling his brother's hair. "I was just kidding. You're a real good cook, Pony."  
  
"You shouldn't tease Ponyboy, Soda. You know he takes it serious."  
  
"Sorry, Pony. I was only kidding."   
  
"Hey, Dally, you wanna stay the night. Mom, Dad, is that okay? I mean, he hasn't got anywhere else to go, with that bitc-"  
  
"Soda!"  
  
"Sorry. Er.... That aunt of his."  
  
"I'm fine," said Dally, loudly. Charity had always made him uneasy.  
  
"He can stay with us, until he finds somewhere else, in Darry's room, since Pony and Soda are already sharing one," said David, ignoring Dally's protest.  
  
"Good,," said Darry, finishing his cake. "C'mon, Dally, we've got some blankets you can use around here somewhere..."   
  
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That Was mercifully short. *gag* Okay, that chapter sucked... The next chapter should be better. A young Tim Shepard, so just.... Forget about this chapter and read the rest of it..... 


	7. No Smoking

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Chapter Seven  
  
No Smoking  
  
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Sorry it took me so long to post this.... I have seen an alarming decrease of my free time lately. (Gag) Plus, I'm lazy. Its kinda choppy, but I like it better than last chapter. So anyway, read!  
  
  
Dally took the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, sighed, and put them back in.No smoking. The Curtis parent had been very firm on that. It had been at the top of an extensive list of rules that Dally was just about to go crazy with.  
  
He'd been on his best behavior the past three days. He was amazing himself with how good he could be. "Goody goody," he muttered at himself as he stood up. He was bored beyond belief. Being good had its advantages, but it had disadvantages, too. Lots of them.  
  
"Pony!" he yelled.  
  
"Yeah?" answered Ponyboy.  
  
"If anyone asks, I'm looking around town."   
  
He started toward the door, paused, and returned, feeling under his mattress for his switchblade. He didn't ever go anywhere in New York without it, he didn't want to here, either. He'd hidden it on the hunch that the Curtis parents wouldn't be too pleased if they'd found out about it.   
  
With his switchblade in his pocket, he headed down the hall to the front door, wondering where he should go. By the time he was out on he street, he'd decided on going to the park he'd spent that first night at. He headed in that general direction, lighting a cigarette as he went.   
  
He was wondering what would happen if he saw David and Christina- or more if they saw him, smoking, when, like magic, he looked up and saw them both come around the corner. They didn't see him, and with reflexes born of three years as a hood in New York, he ducked off the sidewalk and into the alley, running into the greaser who was already standing there.   
  
He fell over, but luckily farther into the alley instead out on the sidewalk where the Curtis's would be sure to see him. They walked by without glancing his way.  
  
Sighing in relief, Dally looked up into a pair of bemused eyes, regarding him amusedly.  
  
"The Curtis's ain't gonna hurt ya, yah know," he drawled, grinning. "Why, I been over there a few times, and I've still got all my arms and legs, even."  
  
Feeling rather foolish, Dally scrambled to his feet, muttering an explanation.  
  
"So you're living with the Curtis's now?" The greaser asked. He was a few years older than Dally, fifteen, maybe, and looked like he belonged in New York. "That could get annoyin, I'm imagining." He grinned. "I'm Tim Shepard. Who're you?"  
  
"Dally Winston. I moved here from New York City."  
  
"I got a cousin out there who says I should come live with him. Says its my kinda place. You Wanna go to the Dingo? I don't got nothin better to do, and I know some people who'd like to meet ya."  
  
"Uh... Sure," answered Dally, wondering what The Dingo was.  
  
"C'mon. You got another Cancer stick I can have?"  
  
Dally tossed him one, and got out one for himself, following Tim towards the Dingo.  
  
****  
  
The Dingo was a bar/restaurant/general hangout. It looked like all the greasers in the town were there, eating, talking, fighting, smoking, playing pool. Dally grinned. If he'd known this was here, he'd've come here before.   
  
Tables were everywhere, in garish colors of red and Yellow and orange, and everyone was laughing, talking, yelling, cussing, and making a general racket.   
  
"Hey, Tim," said a voice behind them. Dally turned to see a greaser standing there. "Who's this?" He jerked his thumb at Dally.  
  
"Dallas Winston," said Dally.   
  
The greaser peered at Dally. "Have I seen you before? I'm Glenn, by the way. I'm in Shepards gang."  
  
"You got organized gangs around here?"  
  
Tim winced. "Just one. Makes it hard to have rumbles, but the Socs are always good for a fight."  
  
Disappointed, Dally turned back to Glenn. "You might have met my brother. He came up here a few years ago. Michael."  
  
"Oh yeah. How's he doing?"  
  
Dally froze. He hadn't been expecting that. "He... died. Was killed. Gang fight a year or two back."  
  
Luck saved Glenn from having to reply to that in the form of another greaser. Sneaking up behind Tim, he yelled "Boo!" right in his ear and laughed hysterically when he jumped. "Hey, Tim, Glenn. Who's this?" He grinned crazily at Dally.   
  
"This is Dallas Winston," answered Tim. "Dally, that's Two-bit. He's crazy."  
  
Two-bit pretended to look sad, and ended up grinning. "Hi, Dallas Winston. Hey Tim, guess who busted out my windows yesterday night?"  
  
Tim smiled. "Socs. This calls for a getting back." He turned to Dally. "You wanna come. We'll just bust out a few car windows, slash a few tires...."  
  
Dally was grinning. This could prove to be the most fun he'd had since he'd moved from New York. 


	8. Tuff Cars

--------------  
  
Chapter 8  
  
Tuff Cars  
--------------  
  
Two-bit is 21 in the book, so he's about 16 in this story. Curly may not exactly be old enough, but oh well. As usual, the only character(s) I own are Jeremy and Glenn. I'm not S.E. Hinton.... Um... Don't sue me. Thats all I have to say. You wouldn't want to sue me, anyway. You'd get about twenty dollars, cuz I am poor. You could sue my parents... but please don't.  
  
  
  
Dally lay there, waiting for Darry to fall asleep, and praying the Curtis's were light sleepers. He didn't know whether Darry would care if he snuck out in the middle of the night, but he really didn't want to find out, either.  
  
By the time Darry's breathing was deep and regular enough to convince Dally that he was asleep, Dally was almost asleep himself. Yawning, he sat up- quietly- and tiptoed down the hall.  
  
He was trying to remember where there were thing that he could trip over in the pitch black, when he found out where t least one of them was. He fell on his hands and knees with an almost silent curse and the clatter of several things falling off whatever he'd run into.  
  
He got to his feet, expecting someone to wake up, and ask what in the hell he was doing out of bed at 2:00 in the morning and why didn't he just turn on a light, whatever it was- but, amazingly enough, no one did. He breathed out the breath he'd been holding and managed to make it to the door without tripping and killing himself again.   
  
That was the hard part, he told himself, stepping out into the street. The streetlights (at least, the ones not broken out) helped him not to trip or run into, or step on anything. He didn't have far to go- they were meeting in the lot next to the Curtis house.  
  
Tim and an unfamiliar Greaser who looked about Pony's age where sitting on the roof of an abandoned  
car, smoking.  
  
"Hey, Dally!" yelled Tim when he came into sight. Dally got to the car and climbed onto the hood. Tim tossed him a cigarette and a lighter. "This is Curly. He's my brother. He wanted to come along." Dally grinned. Sounded a lot like him 4 years or so before, when he was Curly's age.  
  
"Two-Bit and Glenn should be getting here sometime soon. Glenn is never early, though, and Two-Bit is always late." As he spoke, Glenn appeared at the far side of the lot. He sauntered over and sprawled out next to Dally on the hood of the car.  
  
"Two-bit not here yet?" He asked, looking up at Tim.  
  
"Nope." Tim tried, unsuccessfully to blow a smoke ring. Glenn blew a perfect one and earned himself a glare from Tim and a challenge to see who really was better at smoke rings. Eventually Curly and Dally joined in. They made smoke rings for the next half hour until Two-bit finally came.  
  
The look on his face kept anyone from asking why he was late. He didn't volunteer any information- he forced a smile, but by the time they had gone a block, it was a grin. Two-bit couldn't stay upset for long about anything.   
  
It took them fifteen minutes to get to the nicer houses- and the nicer cars. Dally was beginning to get slightly nervous, but another part of him- the bigger part- was having fun. "How do we know which cars to wreck?" he asked.   
  
"Jeremy Thompson." Tim said, nodding toward a house on the left side of the street. "That's his car right there. He's a big time Soc."   
  
"Man, these are tuff cars," said Two-bit from behind them. Glenn nodded in agreement.   
  
"Almost makes yah not wanna trash em," said Two-bit.  
  
"Almost." Glenn grinned. "But as long as I remember who owns em, I'm gonna enjoy this."  
  
Jeremy Thompson's Mustang was the first car they came to. Tim got out his switchblade. The way he was grinning almost made Dally scared of him. But he'd met plenty of people like that back in New York. For Tim, the car was a replacement for a real Soc.   
  
Dally reached in his pocket and got out his switchblade. He slashed at the tires with he switchblade, watching Two-bit and Glenn and Curly break the windows with a stick they'd found lying nearby. Meanwhile, Tim was inside, ripping, cutting, slashing the leather seats.   
  
For the first time, it occurred to Dally how much noise they where making. He glanced nervously at the street, but the houses lay still and dark. He turned back to the final tire, and stuck the switchblade in and pulled it back.   
  
"Done," he said.  
  
Tim hopped out of the now wrecked car, and Two-bit, Curly and Glenn dropped the sticks. "We're going to Paul's now." he told them.  
  
They'd gotten through four cars and were working on their fifth when a light clicked on in a house down the street. Dally froze. Tim ran. Dally followed with the other three. They ran past the Soc's houses and over the train tracks. By the time they'd gotten back to the lot, Tim and Dally where the only one who weren't out of breath.   
  
Tim grinned. "That went well."  
  
"Idiot," puffed Glenn. "I'm about to die."  
  
"Don't smoke so much," suggested Two-bit, but he was breathing hard, too.  
  
"Oh, shit!" Dally exclaimed. He'd just noticed the sky. It was almost 5:00 and starting to get light out. He ran for the Curtis house, hoping none of the Curtis's were early risers. 


End file.
